


John Watson's Little Wars

by shinkonokokoro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson fights little wars. He has to. most of them are of attrition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Watson's Little Wars

Prologue   


John Watson fights little wars. He has to. Most of them are of attrition.   


They’re nothing like goals.  


Goals are different. Goals are celebrated once they’re accomplished. They’re usually set aside once accomplished. Put on a shelf to admire. ‘See what I’ve done.’  


John Watson fights little wars.  


If he doesn’t, he’ll fall apart. he’s been fighting all his life. so if he stops now,  especially now, he’ll cease to be. Be a wraith in the shadows the world doesn’t want to see. smoke from the chimney that dissipates into nothing. A balloon leaking air that slowly becomes a thing less and less itself, less and less important until it’s nothing more than something someone forgot to put in the rubbish bin.  


So John Watson fights little wars. Every day. He doesn’t even hope to win. He just hopes, like the rest of his life, to survive.

  
War 1   


John’s first war is on Getting Up.  


It’s a practical war. If he doesn’t get up, he won’t exist. His purpose will be nothing, and he’ll fall apart. There are enough people in John Watson’s family who have fallen apart. He doesn’t need to make the Watson set complete.  


So John practises Getting Up. He sets his alarm Day 01: After Sherlock. Presses snooze until noon.  
But he does get up.  


Day 02: After Sherlock he stays in bed until noon again. Feels only a little guilty. He figures that’s an improvement.  


Days 03-08 are better. 11:30-11:00.  


Day 17 brings John to a steady 9:00. He’s fairly pleased with that. He can handle it. John’s advancement halts, but he holds his ground until Day 24.  


Day 24 he loses all ground and stays in bed until nearly 3:00, blinds drawn, bed clothes tucked up to his chin while he pretends that mrs. Hudson’s movements downstairs belong to one insulting flatmate, consulting detective, irritant extraordinaire, best friend.  


John’s never had a very vivid imagination.  


Day 25 he punishes himself and gets up at 7:00.   


Of course, he’s been awake since 4:27, so he doesn’t know if it really counts as a battle won.  


From Day 26 on, however, he does pretty well at holding his ground.  


That  is  something that John Watson has always been good at.  
  
War 2   


John Watson’s second war is on Getting Dressed.  


This war started Day 18 when he’s feeling particularly overconfident.  


It falls by the wayside, and he lets this war collapse until War 1 is under firm control.  


He picks it up Day 28. Nearly a month After Sherlock.

When this war goes well, he thinks he might be able to hold one front and fight on two. War 3 is on Leave the Flat. War 3 is a losing battle from its inception. So John sticks with Wars 1 and 2 until he can successfully stand his ground.

  
War 3   


John’s third war is on Leave the Flat.  


John begins this battle when all of his sympathy foods run out and John is reduced to eating dry crackers with no taste that he’s discovered in the back of one of the cupboards.   


Day 34. John Watson Leaves the Flat. Hand on the doorknob, he pushes it open and squints into the uncharacteristically bright sun.  


The world hasn’t changed. It’s lost its most brilliant feature, but it hasn’t changed.  


John Watson heaves a sigh of relief and heartbreak and turns towards Tesco.   


War 3 is depressingly easy.  
  
War 4   


John’s fourth war is on Not Crying in Public.  


While War 3 was deceptively easy, War 4 proves to be rather difficult. Day 34, in Tesco, John suddenly finds himself in the men’s loo, hand pressed over his mouth, chest threatening to burst while his eyes damn near overflowed.   


That was Not Good. Not Okay. Never Again. John Watson presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars and then lets the blackness be comforting. He drowns himself in cold water for a minute and then straightens his spine, remembering that he’s the Man Who Invaded Afghanistan, he’s the one who shot a man after knowing a good man for only a day. He’s holding ground on Wars 1, 2, and 3. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t lose all ground again.   
John returns home.   


Day 41 he’s on the tube and sees a tall, slender man. His hair is platinum blonde, but it doesn’t matter. John sees the dark coat and slight build and has to turn his face into his collar to prevent the tears from showing.   


Day 43 he’s at the clinic (he’s discovered spending too much time at home makes him anxious) and has to close the door on a patient and fist a hand in his shirt over his heart while the tears well up. It’s a kid. Dark hair, thin face. He’s probably undernourished, but still looks nothing like Sher...like him.   


This war is not going well.  


It’s embarrassing.   


Day 44, John only stubs his toe on the corner of the receptionist’s desk, but he still has to shut himself in his office when he can’t pretend the tears are from pain any longer. Sarah looks away, gripping his shoulder awkwardly.  


He can’t ask for more time off. He’s had a month. That should be enough. Shouldn’t it? But what’s ‘enough.’ What’s ‘enough’ for a man like Sherlock Holmes. Would a life-time be enough? It wouldn’t matter, would it. Life goes on, and 

John Watson fights his wars to stay alive.   


And that means, Not Crying in Public.   


Day 52 and he sees a tall man with his collar turned up, dark hair. And John Watson doesn’t cry.   
  
War 5   


John’s fifth war is on Smiling Like I Mean It.  


“Oh!” Sarah exclaims one day.  


“What?” John looks up at her, seeing her soft expression.  


“You’re smiling.”  


“I smile.”  


“Not lately,” she says and then gives him another kind look before continuing on her way.  


John makes an effort to smile more.  


He goes home that afternoon after picking up bread, sugar, strawberries, toilet paper, and shampoo. Mrs. Hudson gives him a kind smile, and when he forces his lips upwards, she just tsks, shakes her head, and says she’ll bring up some tea.  


“What? What’s wrong?” He stares after her and then totes his groceries upstairs.   


“You don’t have to force yourself to look happy, dear, when you’re not,” she says when she pushes the door open and sets the tray down on the coffee table.   


“I... I don’t. Do I?”  


She gives him a sad nod.   


“Oh.”  


Such begins John Watson’s fifth war. To relearn the joy in the little things. For starters, a good cup of tea. He gives Mrs. Hudson a true smile when she leaves. A small one. But a real one.  


Mrs. Hudson bent her head and kissed John’s temple. “There’s my boy.”  


John’s return smile was brilliant.  


Day 69 and John can go into work, see Sarah working hard and give her a small smile.   


Day 78 and John can meet Lestrade at the pub for a pint and smile at his entertaining stories about incompetent bobbies and stupid criminals.   


Day 94 and John can smile at friendly strangers and the sunshine and babies, and children playing in the park, and bad telly, and even the funnies in the paper, and even fond memories.  


This was is successfully held.   
  
War 6   


John’s sixth war is on Don’t Scream in the Cemetery  


The first time he went, he was rather quiet. Said his piece and left, imagining that he might never return. Stone and grass are too hard a piece to see.   


Day 35 he visits the cemetery and screams at Sherlock’s headstone until the tears flow freely. He doesn’t consider this a set-back to Crying in Public. Cemeteries are for privacy.  


He screams words of abuse, of supplication, of bribery. John figures, later, he probably runs the entire gamut of Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief.   


John leaves when he’s cold and shaking and hoarse, hiding in his bed for the rest of the evening. Screw his wars.   


But Day 36, he gets up at 9:00, Gets Dressed, Leaves the Flat, Finds a Smile for Mrs. Hudson, and Does  Not Cry in Public. Besides the gaping emotional maw within, it’s one of John Watson’s better days.   


On Day 54, two days after seeing the man who had a turned up collar, John finds himself in front of the black stone that seemed to absorb light--fitting really. Sherlock absorbed all light. John merely reflected it on to him. He finds himself screaming at the unmoving stone, abuse, regrets, fury, disappointment, bereavements, complaints, and judgements until his knees are as wet as his cheeks and his joints creak when he stands again.   


He visits again Day 100. It’s more of a formality. 100 days in the world without S------. He sits. A while. Staring at the words on the grave. Knows them by heart, of course. It isn’t hard. He also knows all of the unsaid things written on that grave. Genius, bloody brilliant, stupid sod, best most human human being. A million epithets that can never encompass the man himself. Why should one try?  


The thoughts pile up and gather until they’re so compressed, so pressurised that they eventually begin pouring forth from his mouth. And then John’s screaming at the engraved name again.  


Screaming until Mycroft’s hand comes down on his shoulder and John nearly throws him over in his surprise. Mycroft’s face is drawn and he just says, “John. You cannot keep doing this.”  


And he realises, knees grass-stained, fingernails cutting little half-moons into his palms that Mycroft is right. It’s  unseemly for a man his age to come to the cemetery and scream at his old flatmate’s grave. So he gets up to his feet, makes a half-hearted effort at wiping off his knees before walking past Mycroft, past Anthea or whatever-her-name-is, past the sleek black car, past the cemetery entrance. Back to lonesome 221B Baker Street.   


The war on Don’t Scream in the Cemetery isn’t over so much as shut down by practicality.   


Day 150, John Watson visits S------’s grave to ‘tell’ him that his life is in shambles, thanks ever so much. He doesn’t scream. Turns his back and walks back home.   
  


War 7   


John’s seventh war is on Make 1 Cup of Tea, Not 2.  


Day 61, John makes his first tea on his own. Pulls down two cups from the cupboard, two teabags, puts enough water in the kettle for two. By the time the kettle sings, John’s staring at the two cups, feeling a bit adrift. Instinct. It’s what he’s always done. And it hasn’t always been for S------. Long before, he used to make himself tea. After that he made tea for himself and his mum. After that he made tea for himself and Harry. Then for Harry and Clara. Then for himself and Clara while Harry slept off her hangover.   


John’s always made tea for two.   


He pawns the second cup off on Mrs. Hudson’s doorstep. Since she’s not there. She returns the broken pieces to him with a mournful smile.  


It’s fine. It’s was only John’s favourite cup. But now that S------’s gone, he uses his.   


Day 74 he stumbles downstairs and again, makes two mugs of tea. He sighs and drinks the second himself.   


When he pulls the kettle out Day 79, he makes the mental note to make one, fills the kettle for one. Gets distracted by the arrival of a package, and gets confused when his water makes only a mug and a half.   


By Day 88, he’s better. Only about 25% of the time does he make tea for two. And when Mrs. Hudson visits day 101, he laughs. He’s made tea for one.  
  
War 8   


John’s eighth war is on Update His Blog with Something Not About S------.  


John’s opened the page a million times. Stared at the blinking cursor until his eyes go crossed.   


Every sentence he tried to type had been inane. So for a while, he gives up on it.   


Day 102 and he’s staring at the cursor again. Maybe a story about the clinic? John types. But at the end of the story relating how the mother of the sick child got so worked up she had to be escorted out of the room so the child didn’t--John stops. No one cares. No one will care. People only read his blog because of S------. So he doesn’t post the story about the girl and her nutter mum.   


Day 103 he sits back down and types it all out again. Then lets it sit there for another two days before he posts it. It gets two comments. 20 hits. This doesn’t make him feel better. But it’s something.   


Day 112 and he posts something about the child they had to chase down to give him his immunization. The nurses all yelling after him.  


Day 134 is Mr-Dog-bite-in-an-awkward-place.   


It’s gotten easier.  


All of John’s wars seem to be going well.   
  
War 9   


John’s ninth war is on using S------’s name.  


He’d begun to avoid it. It was just easier. After. And if humans know something, it’s certainly how to avoid things that cause a person pain. The body tells the mind the same thing. It’s how children learn how to not touch the stove when it’s hot. It’s how they learn to not stick their fingers into electrical outlets. It’s how they learn to avoid raised hands and fists. Interestingly enough, not enough that people don’t turn on the lights when they get up, inevitably banging their shins on the corners of tables and such.  


John can’t visit S------’s blog. John doesn’t write about him anymore on his own blog. Once in a while, John runs into Molly. She gives him a timid smile that seems more sad than encouraging as he’s sure it’s meant to be. She stutters some words about his former flat-mate and then bows out and darts the opposite direction. He’s never quite sure what to make of the encounters, because he’s sure there’s a new steel in her spine, whenever he sees her and she doesn’t see him.   


Day 150 and John stands in front of his grave, gravely telling him how he ruined John’s life. But he doesn’t ever say his name.   


Day 207 and he’s still not managed to get past the first sibilant sound without feeling flighty and panicked.   


By Day 241 he’s feeling ever so foolish, but still can’t say it. He shakes his head as he heads home from the clinic, Sarah suggesting some time off. He’d snapped at her and told her he was fine, stop worrying  please .   


Day 273 and John sighs at the memory, ignoring the turning of the CCTV cameras, crossing the street to turn on to Baker Street. Turns the keys over in his pocket, the jingling sound comforting. The key turns the lock and he heads past Mrs. Hudson’s door up to his own. He opens the door and heads to the kitchen to make tea for one.   
There’s a mug on the counter. He glances at it. Sherlock’s favourite. Not that that’s unusual. It’s the one he usually uses since he’d broken his own favourite. John turns and heads to the sitting room. Nothing out of order. Mrs. Hudson, if she stops by, usually leaves biscuits or some sort of treat for John. But there’s a mug on the counter.   


S------’s door is cracked.   


Mrs. Hudson only cleans in there on Tuesdays. It’s Thursday.   


John lurches towards the door, throwing it open, startling the thin figure standing there.  


“Sherlock,” he blurts. It was easy. And like a dam breaking, the word comes out again as he grabs the figure’s shoulder and spins him around. “Sherlock,” he breathes again like a saving prayer. Then, “Fucker!” And decks him.  


Sherlock yelps satisfyingly as he fails and falls backwards onto his bed. “John!”  


John pants, shoulders tight. Sherlock’s hands are raised towards his face, lying, still, on the bed.  


“I’m sorry, John. I had no choice. I--”  


“Get up.”  


“I beg your pardon?”  


“Stand  up , you stupid idiot!” He chokes.  


Sherlock stands and stiffens only slightly as John grabs him, relaxing once he’s folded into John’s arms. “John...” he says tenderly.  


John sobs once, knees threatening to give out. But Sherlock is there to hold on to so he won’t fall. And, he realises, at long last, the wars are over.  


And John has won.

 


End file.
